Joe parked the van in the empty space beside Sean Prescott’s Volvo.  The restaurant was called ‘Southern Cooking’.

‘Not very original,’ Joe thought as he and Frank followed Sean into the wood-shingled building.  The smell inside the restaurant instantly made Joe’s stomach growl.  It was a mixture of sweet barbecue sauce, grilled onions and fresh-baked bread.

Sean spoke with the hostess and she quickly escorted the trio to a quiet table near a window in the far corner of a large, open room.

“Howdy, gents; I’m Edna,” a red-haired waitress addressed them with a smile.  “Can I get ya’ll somethin’ to drink or are ya ready to order?”

Sean smiled at the Hardy brothers.  “Trust me on this, okay guys?”

The Hardy boys exchanged a glance, and then Frank said, “Sure.”

“Give us three orders of Papa Louie’s Beef Ribs with all the fixings,” Sean ordered.

“Excellent choice,” Edna agreed, “now, how about those drinks?”

The three young men had just finished placing their orders when Sean’s cell-phone rang.

“Sean Prescott,” the attorney said into the small device.  “Mr. Hardy?  Yes, sir; your boys are with me now.”

“Great Sean,” Fenton Hardy stated, “that will save me a phone call. 

“Chester Morton and I are headed your way.  We stopped for a bite to eat, but should be at your hotel right on time.

“I’d like my boys to be in on the meeting, if that’s all right with you?” Fenton asked. 

“No problem at all, sir,” Sean replied.  “I was going to tell them about my meeting with young Chet anyway.”

“Good,” Fenton responded, “I’ll see you all shortly, then.”

Sean hung up the phone.  “I’m looking forward to seeing your father again.  It’s been a long time.

“He wants the two of you to be in on our meeting.”

Just then, Edna appeared with the biggest plates of ribs, baked potatoes, green beans and coleslaw Frank had ever seen.

“What army is going to help us put all this food away?” he asked, taking in the sweet, spicy aroma.

“I don’t know about you, big brother,” Joe quipped, “but I’m so starved, I think I could eat half a cow.”

“Well, Joe,” Frank chuckled, “I’d say there’s about half a cow on this platter.”

“Dig in, guys,” Sean ordered.  “We’ll talk later.” 

* * *

“Vernon,” Alice Thomas smiled coyly at the young man beside her, “you make me feel like a high school girl.” She had been delighted when he appeared at the door of her trailer.

Vernon had immediately dried her tears and held her close.  He knew Job often used Alice for a punching bag, and Vernon thoroughly enjoyed offering the pretty woman comfort in her hour of need.

“I aim to please,” he grinned, running a hand through his stringy blond hair, “but I best git before Job comes home.”

Alice watched as Vernon got dressed and then slipped a cigarette between his lips. 

“Got a match?”

“In the kitchen, Vern,” Alice responded, pulling on her bathrobe, “but Job’s lighter should be handy.”

Vernon walked to the kitchen and grabbed a packet of matches from the counter.  He knew Job’s lighter wasn’t around.  It was lost on the County Line Bridge.

* * *

“This sure beats the dive we’re staying at,” Joe Hardy commented as Sean Prescott led the Hardy brothers into his hotel room.  The room was large with a king-size bed against one wall.  A dresser and television armoire were opposite the bed.  There was a small kitchenette beside the bathroom door, a small table with two chairs and a spacious desk with a lamp, a phone and a computer port completed the room.

Frank laughed but then added, “Our room’s really not that bad, Joe.  Besides, we’re closer to Chet, even if we can’t see him yet.”

“As I said before,” Sean spoke up as he put on a pot of coffee, “I think I’ll be able to remedy that in the morning when I meet with the D. A.”

Before any of them could say anymore, there was a rap on the door.

“Sean? It’s Fenton Hardy.”

Joe was standing closest to the door and quickly peered through the peep-hole.  Seeing his father’s image, he pulled the door open.  “Hey, Dad,” he greeted.

“Joe,” Fenton smiled and patted his youngest son on the shoulder.  Joe looked past his father to Mr. Morton.  He bit his lip as he saw the raw emotions in his friend’s father’s eyes.

“Mr. Morton?” Joe tentatively approached the man. 

Chester Morton tried to give Joe a smile, but his face just wouldn’t cooperate.  He could see Joe’s compassion and concern and the older man pulled Joe into a hug.

At first, Joe was startled, but then relaxed.  Joe had known the Morton family almost all of his life.  In fact, Mr. and Mrs. Morton often referred to Joe and Frank as ‘part of the family’.  Joe returned the gesture and said, “It’ll be okay Mr. Morton.”

Frank came up to Mr. Morton and embraced the man as well.  It just felt like the right thing to do at the time.

“Chester,” Fenton called and ushered the man over to the attorney, “this is Sean Prescott.  He’s agreed to represent Chet.”

Sean shook hands with Chet’s father and the group assembled at the table.  Frank and Joe served the coffee as Sean started speaking.

* * *

Chuck Morton sat outside on the porch swing, staring across the lawn.  He tried to imagine seeing his daughter walking toward him.  He pictured her long hair gently blowing in the warm summer evening breeze.  He could almost hear her voice, her laughter.

He closed his eyes and felt the warmth of his tears on his cheeks.  Lydia wasn’t walking across the lawn.  He’d never hear her laughter again.  

“Oh Baby-girl,” Chuck said softly. 

“The police just called,” Joyce Morton said numbly as she stepped onto the porch, interrupting Chuck’s thoughts.  He looked up into his wife’s eyes, rimmed red from crying.  “T-they said…they said that C-Chet…confessed.  They said…h-he pushed Lydia off the bridge.”

Chuck stared uncomprehendingly at his wife.  ‘No way,’ he thought.  He didn’t care what the police said, he knew there was no way his brother’s son would have killed his daughter.